


Letters From Paris

by ejr



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Era, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Unhealthy Marriage, Nonbinary Character, Romance, That sort of jane austen feeling, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejr/pseuds/ejr
Summary: Grantaire has gone away on a trip to Italy, where he intends to learn more about the fundamentals of art. Unfortunately that means he has to leave the world of Paris behind. He writes everyone a letter explaining where he's gone.He doesn't expect Enjolras, of all people, to write back.





	Letters From Paris

The first round of letters is hand delivered by none other than Jehan. They’ve got a letter, already opened, and Enjolras looks up at them curiously as they hand him one too.

“What’s this?” Enjolras asks. The front of the envelope says his name in perfect handwriting.

“A letter from Grantaire. He’s written everyone a note.” Jehan explains. Enjolras looks around. Everyone has a letter, the room growing quiet as people read their share. 

“Oh.” Enjolras says, a little dumbly. He was so wrapped up in his work that he hadn’t noticed the others being handed out. The letter flap is sealed with a bit of candle wax. Enjolras slides his thumb under it and unfolds the letter.

**June 19, 1832**

**Enjolras,**

** I imagine it might surprise you to be receiving a letter from me. Contrary to what you may believe, I can read and write, just like you. I even have a fair hand at the fancier bits of calligraphy. Anyway, that’s not why I write to you.**

** I write you to let you know that I am out of town for an extended period of time. Perhaps an infinite amount of time. Maybe you already noticed I am gone, perhaps you have not. It is fine, either way. I won’t tell you where I am. Jehan knows, obviously, but they are the only one with such information. Do not press them for it. Do not worry for my safety, if there were ever a chance of you worrying over a man such as myself, for I am in good care. **

** I hope you are well. France is in your ever capable hands.**

**-Grantaire**

Enjolras looks up from his letter a bit confused. Grantaire’s gone? The back table he usually sits at is empty; though Enjolras can picture in his mind’s eye the small ring left on the worn wood from Grantaire’s bottle. How hadn’t he noticed his absence? He folds up the letter, a little cross with himself. 

“I’ll miss him.” Courfeyrac murmurs, folding up his own letter. A small glance at the page lets Enjolras know his own letter is incredibly brief compared to Courfeyrac’s. A pang rings through Enjolras’s heart. The paper is rough under his thumb as he rubs it absentmindedly.

“We all will,” Enjolras says, tucking the letter into his waistcoat pocket. “But France will not fall down if he is away.”  
  
Courfeyrac nods, face tightly pinched, understanding Enjolras’s tone. “You’re right.”

_ July 8, 1832 _

_ Grantaire, _

_ Thank you for writing to me and letting me know you have gone. Of course you know that tensions have been high in Paris, and while you haven’t been the most dedicated of rebellion-men, I am comforted to know that you are safe from harm, wherever you are. _

_ I will admit I am curious to where you are. I will not pry, for I respect your privacy, but I wonder what sort of thing could have taken you so suddenly and swept you away from our beloved Paris. I hope it is good to you. Paris is not the same without you, she already misses you on her streets and at the back tables of Le Cafe Musain. _

_ I have asked Jehan to deliver my letter to you. I hope it arrives safely and that it is a welcome letter. If I am to write plainly, it is clear Our Friend already misses you dearly. They looked quite pleased that I asked to send you a letter a few days ago. I send Jehan’s best wishes as well as mine. _

_ -Enjolras _

**July 17, 1832**

**Enjolras,**

** Your letter is well received, I assure you. I was afraid I might not receive any letters or word from the group the entire time I am away. Aside from the letters from Jehan, which I receive regularly, but you probably understand that they are more whimsy and prose than updates from home. I do treasure them dearly, don’t misunderstand me, but I’m glad I have gotten even one letter from you.**

** I only keep where I am private so that if it all ends in failure, no one has to know about it. I can return home to Paris without worry of people knowing exactly where and what went wrong. Alas, I have tried to stop speaking ill of myself, and here I am doing it again.**

** Let’s just say I had an opportunity to further myself as a man and as an artistic soul. I took it as quick as I could and was gone within two days. I hope to find some sort of enlightenment, perhaps, some sort of magic to carry in my heart forever. Paris will always be home, but sometimes you have to leave home to grow a bit more, like a young man leaving his parent’s home to become his own person. Normally I’d tell you more about my purpose here, if you so wished to listen, but for now it is my secret.**

** I hope all is well in Paris. How goes the battle front? Hopefully it remains a figurative battlefront, when it was a literal one… well, let’s just say I am happy we all made it through practically unscathed. How is Joly? I ask because he tends to make a fuss about his suffered injury at the barricade, which was at the time no more than a large scratch, but he only complains when I beat him at cards. Perhaps you should try your hand at cards and see if he complains then. I’m sure he’d be happy for the company in my absence.**

** I hope you are taking care of your health. The chill has been going around here even though it is much warmer still than it ever was in Paris. You work very hard. Don’t forget to take some time and spend it with your friends, not your comrades. **

**Your humblest servant,**

**Grantaire**

**\--POSTSCRIPT--**

** I have enclosed my address. I trust that you will keep it private, and relieve Our Friend Jehan of their letter delivering duties. Please use it only to send letters.**

_ July 15, 1832 _

_ Dear Grantaire, _

_ Following your advice, I played cards with Joly. He is well, of course, and seemed even more so after thoroughly beating me for several rounds. I admit I’ve never played before- and as soon as he had taught me all the rules, Joly was ruthless. He tapped his cane to his nose and said “Better luck next round!” but I thought it would be best if I left before he managed to convince me to start actually betting with real coins. It was great fun, I privately admit, and it undeniably lifted my spirits to be with my friends. _

_ Joly mentioned that breakfast is much lonelier now that it is just he and Bousset. Those two get along so well it’s hard to spot, but I noticed that they once set out a third cup at the Musain before remembering themselves. I am ashamed to say I never realized they ate breakfast with you so often. I think it is a very kind tradition. I hope you have made friends to share a meal with where you are. I have considered asking to join them for a morning or two, but I prefer quieter mornings, working on smaller tasks before the day truly starts, and don’t wish to disturb them in their time together. _

_ I’m sorry to inform you that you missed quite a spectacular moment the other day. Combeferre has been trying to learn some jokes, those clever sentences with plays on words, and the other night he managed to sneak one in while I was talking. It caused quite the hilarity- I didn’t even notice it at first. I thought you would have had quite a laugh. _

_ I’m afraid it has to be a short letter today- I had only a moment before I had to get back to the cause. I hope you understand. _

_ I hope that you will one day write me a few tales of your life soon. I hope you are doing well and that you are in good health. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Enjolras _

**August 6, 1832**

**Dear Enjolras,**

** You request a story of my life here and I will give it to you. I am staying in a flat, where many other people live. They’re from all over Europe, just like me; it is interesting to see so many walks of life in one building, no day is ever the same. I swear the neighbor on my south wall speaks a guttural language that is much more ancient than French. My lodgings are simple and small but they provide for me nonetheless. One afternoon I was walking back to my rooms when I passed a woman I had never seen before; sitting outside of the door just next to mine. Her clothes looked very worn. I stopped and asked how she was. She seemed surprised to see me talking to her, but smiled when I asked again. She said she was fine, that she was waiting for her husband to get home so that she could go get the bread for supper. This struck me as odd. She isn’t allowed to go buy bread without permission from her husband, Enjolras. I offered to go buy some for her, but she feared that might cause trouble, and I of course didn't want that. I never want to cause trouble for anyone, let alone a woman like her. I sat down on the ground next to her and we talked for a bit. Her name is Adeline. She is French, like us. She wouldn’t tell me her age but it was not hard to guess.**

** It is strange, truly, to see such situations in real life. You, our leader, talk much about the oppressed, but it can feel like such an abstract term, a people that we haven’t quite seen yet. You could argue, I’m sure, and I believe you have argued, that I am part of the oppressed, since I am poor and unskilled in most things, but I get along just fine, I do what I can, and most of the time I am not in desperate need for much. But this woman, Enjolras, her eyes were so scared. I do not think love had much to do with her marriage.**

** I made sure to leave and return to my apartment before her husband returned. I bowed politely in farewell, and she laughed, so I am proud of myself for that. I think I will keep an eye out for her to make sure she is well.**

** I lie awake at night and miss home dearly. During the day my tasks and schooling are enough to keep me busy, but it is so still and so quiet at night. I don’t have friends to drink with, not like I have in Paris. I am proud of you for playing cards with Joly! You’d think he is a notorious cheater, but I’ve never been able to catch him in the act- one could conclude he is just that skilled. Perhaps with time you can be that skilled too! Keep at it. NEVER PLAY JOLY IN POKER. He will win all you own. I know you are not a gambling man but a warning is worth issuing regardless. There have been many a night where Musichetta had to convince him to return to me what he had won. After having won nearly all I had that was valuable- which isn’t much to begin with- you can imagine the state of bareness I could have gone home with. Musichetta is a goddess among mortals, her kindness shines upon me like Hera, the Goddess Divine.**

** Combeferre makes many more jokes than you notice, Enjolras. I am sorry to inform you like this, when I am so far and have so little paper to go into further detail about his humor, but he is hilarious. His dry wit is probably what earned him your friendship in the first place, whether you noticed it or not. I hope your fight for justice is going well- news arrives here so slowly, any news of France is watered down and twisted before it even begins to reach me.**

** Please send my birth-day wishes to Courfeyrac. It is the first year since I met him that I haven’t been there to celebrate with him. He’s the only grown man I know who celebrates it, but he always makes it sort of a day that isn’t just about the day of his birth, but a day to celebrate being alive in general. What did he do this year?**

**Humbly yours,**

**Grantaire**

**Enjolras--**

** It is late at night and perhaps I am a little deep in my cups. ** **<strike>You</strike> ** **Enjolras. You have been the sole possession of my thoughts. Why do you write letters to me? I can’t imagine you have much time to spare. You have a fire to control, a world at your hands ready for the creating, much like ** **<strike>Hepe Hapest</strike> ** **Hephaestus at his blacksmiths anvil.**

** Do not get me wrong. Every letter that is delivered to me, all the way out here in Florence, is like a letter from the Gods themselves. I miss home dearly. I miss the fire in your heart, the smouldering in our friend’s hearts, the unending fire that has burned since the dawn of man. No such fire burns in my heart, but how I do like basking in the light you cast. ** <strike>**It burns like--**</strike>

** Did you know here in Florence, men take other men to their rooms like they do women? I have seen it, many times. I’m positive it happens in France, but I imagine it happens with much more of a whispered urgency, as France is more secretive about most things, things that must be kept private. I know it happens that way. But here, they do not care. At least in my flat, they do not. I hear their nights unfolding through my wall. It is loud, if I am plain, and many a night I am kept from sleep. ** <strike>**How **</strike> **Enjolras, have you taken a lover before? Surely, this information is a well kept secret of yours, but curiosity eats away at me.**

** I must go. I need to find a penny before the delivery boy comes to take my letter. **

**Your humblest and most obedient of servants,**

<strike>**Pylades **</strike> **Grantaire**

_ August 23, 1832 _

_ Grantaire- _

_ Deepest apologies for not writing sooner. The situation at hand has been demanding my full attention day and night. I have hardly slept peacefully for an entire week. I assure you we are all safe- but some days it feels like we walk the line. I can’t tell you too much on paper. We’ve had issues lately with mail interference. _

_ Hope you are well. _

_ Enjolras _

**September 8, 1832**

**Dear Enjolras,**

** I hope all is well at home. I admit I have been hesitant to write. I don’t wish to take up too much of your time, but I haven’t heard from Jehan in a while and fear is growing at my heart. Are you all safe? I don’t ask for specifics, I just ask for an assurance that no more barricades have been built in my absence.**

**Deepest concerns,**

**Grantaire**

_ September 14, 1832 _

_ Dearest Grantaire, _

_ Tensions have relaxed once more. I promise in good humor that no barricades were built- Combeferre, lovely and strong willed Combeferre, made sure of it. He keeps us heading in the right direction. With every day that passes I am more and more grateful he is by my side. I am safe, he is safe, we are all- thankfully- unharmed. We walk closer to a deeper understanding and a more fair approach with our country every day. I thank you for your concern, which warms me to know you care so much. _

_ Jehan has written to you. Our Friend was quite distressed over last weeks problems and for a while could not bring themself to put pen to paper. They are quite alright now, and you should be receiving their letter sooner than mine, which I will send as soon as I finish writing. _

_ In reference to your previous letter, Courfeyrac spent his birth-day drinking and generally being a little chaotic, as always. He looked happy. He recently got his hair fashioned into a very up-to-date close cut, it curls just above his brow. It is very handsome. In times like these, the small moments that arise where you look upon your friends and brothers and feel happy are worth more than any amount of gold or silver. That is what I fight for. Surely, you must understand. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Enjolras _

**September 20, 1832**

**Enjolras-**

** I understand that more than anything in the world.**

**Grantaire.**

~~~

**December 22, 1832**

**Dearest Enjolras,**

** Merry Christmas, my friend! I’m horribly sad to not be able to come home for Christmas, but travelling in the strong winter weather by myself is definitely a bad choice. But, do not worry, for I do not spend Christmas alone! Jehan has traveled down to meet me, for they had the money to take the train down to Florence. Isn’t that exciting? We have already shared a bottle of wine and a whole basket of chestnuts together. They have told me many stories of home and they even brought me a gift! It’s a sketchbook, which I will immediately put to use. It’s the very good kind of paper- the one I might look at wistfully in the shops but never have enough money to buy. Having Jehan in my apartment makes it feel like home, and I wish the rest of you were here, so that my tiny flat might become a substitute of ** ** _Le Cafe Musain_ ** **.**

** Speaking of, I will send Jehan back with a gift for you. Of course Jehan has received my gift already, we couldn’t bear to wait until actual Christmas Day, the excitement was too much, so they have been happily reading the poetry book I bought for them. It’s not in French, but Our Friend has been more than up to the task of translating it from Italian. Don’t tell the others that you received a gift and they didn’t- imagine how jealous Courfeyrac would be!**

** You were very kind in the last letters you’ve written. Your words of encouragement in my times of doubt really do mean the world to me. I’m thankful that we’ve been keeping up with our letters. For once in my life, I’m looking forward to the new year. 1833 will be an excellent year- just you wait.**

**The Merriest of Christmas’s and the Happiest of New Years,**

**Grantaire**

_ January 4, 1833 _

_ Dearest Grantaire, _

_ Happy New Year! I’m embarrassed to admit I spent most of New Years Day sound asleep. I seem to have gotten some kind of sickness. Nothing too drastic, though, and I’m positive it will be gone by the time you write back. _

_ Jehan looked very happy when returning from Italy. They couldn’t keep how excited they were hidden, and insisted that I open the gift they had brought from you with them right then, in front of them, in the hallway of my flat. And oh, Grantaire. They are lovely. I can’t believe you made these! It is hard to put into words to write, and honestly, I know not a lot about fine art, but these statues were carved by your own hand, and I will take excellent care of them. I’ve set the figure of the Joan of Arc beside my bed. She is a little protector, a guardian angel. She is so beautiful- the tiny details you painted in her face are absolutely outstanding. I’m quite afraid to break or lose the other two figures, so I’ve kept them in the box, and the box is safely stored away. Don’t worry- I didn’t tell anyone that you got me a gift. It’s our secret. I thank you again. _

_ As the new year turns, I wonder what The Fates have in store for us. I hope it is good, and plentiful, and that France becomes more Just by the day. I already know you have grown, whether you believe it or not, a man who tries and gives his best effort is a man who grows. I can't wait to see your smiling face once more. You are right- this year will be even more kind and giving than before. I know it. _

_ Sincerely yours, _

_ Enjolras _

**January 10, 1833**

**Dearest Enjolras,**

** I hope you are feeling better. A cold at this time of year surely isn't very pleasant, but I'm pleased you took the time to rest. Trust me when I say I'm sure I celebrated the new year enough for the both of us!**

** The snow is horrible. I have been stuck in my home for days as my school doesn’t exactly stay warm in such cold weather, and if I were to brave the cold I might lose a finger to Jack Frost’s bite. The townsfolk are astonished- it apparently has never snowed this hard, at least not in recent memory. It is not much snow to you and me, but still it persists. I'm afraid my shoes are not meant for this weather. I've had to mend my socks many times to keep warm.**

** I got to give Adeline a gift for Christmas. Do you remember her? She's the sweet girl next door. I waited until just a few days ago to buy her a gift, and waited all day to give it to her. After much consideration, I had decided to give her a delicious pastry- the one with jam on top, and dusted with sugar. Very French. I thought a gift with no possibility of being found out by her husband would be best. Needless to say, she liked it, and I was very happy to share even a little bit of Christmas with this girl. I don't think her husband did anything for the two of them. Not even a Christmas dinner. It is a shame. There are many reasons why Christmas may not be the most joyous of times- but I wish the reason wasn’t because of neglect. I wish her life wasn't the way it is, but I'm afraid there's not much I can do except to buy her a small pastry.**

** I am simply over the moon and stars with joy that you liked my present for you, Enjolras. It took a fair amount of considering too! A man like you is surprisingly hard to shop for, which is why I decided to make your gift instead of purchasing something. I wonder sometimes, about you and the others. Do you miss me? I certainly miss you. I think without these letters I might have gone mad with loneliness here. I remember mundane days that passed me by like water in the river, getting breakfast with Joly and his missus, talking with you, watching Combeferre and Courfeyrac good naturedly bicker about whatever occupied them... Such small things, or so they seem, but to me they are as big as the world, the entire universe, for such simple things can mean a lot more when they are absent from your life. I have not even heard a word from dearest Marius and Cosette- and Jehan tells me they are married now. In my absence, the world turns, and the ever occupied France stays busy, and I am afraid I fall behind. My heart calls out for France. I am thinking of returning soon. I do not know how much longer I can fend off the homesickness.**

**Missing you,**

**Grantaire**

**January 31th, 1833**

**Dearest Enjolras,**

** It has been a while since I’ve gotten a letter from you, and it worries away at my heart, but I am trying to chase away the worst assumptions, I am positive you are just busy, a man such as yourself surely finds himself short of spare time. I write to let you know that I am soon on my way back to France. I do not have a specific date, but I know that I am going out of my mind here, and I think I have spent all the time I need to spend in Italy. As such, my address is no longer mine. My things sit in two large bags. It will be a month at most. I hope Paris welcomes me back home soon.**

** My soul aches to hear your voice again, I cannot seem to quite remember it, and it saddens me, how could I forget the voice such as yours? Something sickly blossoms in me when I think about it too long. I also have forgotten Combeferre’s voice, a voice so soothing and calm, one I can trust in the most unstable of times, how I wish to hear it now. **

** I miss you. Home can not come sooner.**

**Yours,**

**Grantaire**

**February 12, 1833**

**Dear Enjolras,**

** I am on my journey. Unable to receive letters from anyone truly makes me feel both like an adventurer and the loneliest man in the world. This letter might make it to you before I do, as I am traveling by myself on horseback, going from spare room to spare room, and while this life is not one I dislike, I admit my homesickness will not leave, even as I travel through our beloved Europe. My horse, she is a beautiful thing, her name is Phoebe, and if she really is the daughter of Uranus and Gaia like the myths say, than no name is more fitting for a travelling horse. I shall miss her dearly when I return home. She is an excellent secret keeper, and as such, I have told her many things on our travels. I must also admit I worry for when I have to let her go again, as I have grown so fond of her and her company, that surely no horse will be as good to me as she.**

** The days are very cold lately. I can’t help but think of how comfortable my flat was, even with as small as the room had been, it always had a fire in the hearth, hot coals on the bricks. Perks of staying in a wealthy man’s house. **

**Yours, definitely not freezing out here,**

**Grantaire**

When Grantaire arrives in Paris, he wastes no time and rides directly to the Musain. His bags are still stacked carefully upon his horse, the lovely Phoebe, and he's careful to tie her to a post so she doesn't wander away with his entire livelihood upon her back. He feeds her his last snack, a fat red apple. She happily eats it. He pets her nose, thinking, chasing his thoughts as he studies the fine hairs on her snout. Now that he's finally here, he's scared to go inside the cafe and end this time away, to step back into the life he had when he was here months ago.

"Do you think they miss me, Phoebe?" Grantaire murmurs. She blinks slowly at him. "Yes, I know. I should just go in."

Grantaires not sure what exact time it is, he’s certainly feeling the ache of riding for hours, but it’s dark enough outside to make Grantaire think that his friends must be late into their meeting. He doesn't want to interrupt them, for his return is sure to cause at least a _ little _ bit of chaos. Or so he hopes.

Just as Grantaire braces himself and reaches for the Musain's old door handle, it swings open and Enjolras steps outside, head down as he carefully inspects some papers. He nearly runs into Grantaire.

"Oh, pardon me." Enjolras says casually, looking up. 

"That's alright." Grantaire grins. He tucks his hands in his pockets to hide how his hands are shaking from a sudden bout of nerves upon seeing Enjolras, the beautiful Enjolras. Enjolras does a double take, blinking wide-eyed at Grantaire, mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Grantaire! When did you get back?"

"Just now," he laughs, nodding to his horse. She huffs.

Enjolras looks at Phoebe and back at Grantaire, his smile growing wider with each passing second. He bursts forward and wraps Grantaire in a hug, Grantaire’s feet scuffling on the brick street as he counter balances all of Enjolras’s weight in his arms. "I missed you," Enjolras confesses into the space by Grantaire's ear. His hair is pressed against Grantaire’s cheek and his hands are twisted in the fabric of Grantaire’s coat and Grantaire couldn’t be happier. He holds Enjolras tighter, breathing out a shaky sigh into Enjolras’s shoulder. 

“I missed you too.” Grantaire closes his eyes, breathing Enjolras in. “I’m back now, so that’s good, huh? At least today’s weather isn’t too horrible, I mean, it’s still quite cold but my coat kept me warm enough, otherwise I might have to chastise you for not wearing yours out here. Not that I have much authority to scold you for anything, really.” Grantaire closes his mouth with a click. A fast heart and a rambling mouth are certainly not when Enjolras missed about him.

Enjolras pulls back, sliding his hands up to Grantaire’s shoulders. The weight of his hands grounds Grantaire back into his city, Paris, making him feel at home before he’s even seen the front door of his apartment. The dim candle light of the street lamps is reflected a thousand times brighter in the shine of Enjolras’s eyes. “You’re back.” He repeats, calmly. They share a moment, just a few seconds, oversaturated in feelings that are harder to catch than a bird from the air. A hundred letters couldn’t capture what Grantaire feels. Even if he had all the time in the world, he doesn’t think there is a word, a sentence, or even a line of poetry for how it feels as his heart leaps into his throat. “Do you think after the meeting ends, I could steal you away for a bit?” A smile tugs at the side of Enjolras’s mouth. “I feel like we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Absolutely,” Grantaire says.

“We could go on a walk around town.”

“Certainly.”

“Everyone will want to see you now, though.”

“Sure.”

“Gran_taire_,” Enjolras laughs, a soft and flustered sound, and then he steps back, leaving Grantaire’s front feeling chilled. “We should go downstairs. Coufeyrac would absolutely tear me limb from limb if I kept you out here any longer. He doesn’t know you’re here yet but when he finds out…” Enjolras trails off.

“Alright, alright. You win.” Grantaire says, hands up defensively. “Give me one moment.” Remembering something, he turns and walks back to Phoebe to dig around in his bag. He pulls out a white flower and a small handwritten note. Enjolras makes a curious noise when he sees it. “For the newlyweds,” Grantaire explains. Enjolras smiles.

“Come on!” Enjolras leaps into action again, folding his papers quickly and tucking them into his waistcoat pocket. “Everyone has to see you, Grantaire. They’ll be _ delighted _ to see you again!” Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand and pulls him into the warm air of the _ Musain _and to the back door, down the staircase, into the atmosphere of the voices of their friends. Candles paint the whole room a warm yellow, inviting like a sunset. “Everyone, Grantaire has returned!” Enjolras announces, cutting off Courfeyrac in the middle of a sentence. 

There’s a moment of silence as everyone turns to look. Enjolras’s palm is warm like the hearth against Grantaire’s.

“Hey, Grantaire!” Joly calls, raising his cup, and the entire room erupts into voices calling out to Grantaire and chairs scraping against the floor as everyone tries to stand on top of each other in the three foot square that Enjolras and Grantaire already occupy. Someone claps him on the back while another rustles his hair. He lets go of Enjolras’s hand and gets drawn into the center of the room, everyone clamoring and laughing and celebrating, and never in a thousand years did Grantaire think it would be like this.

As the room calms down, Grantaire laughs, fixing his hair. He’s hugged just about everyone, he thinks, except for Enjolras, who stands at the edge of the circle with his fingertips pressed up against his unending smile.

“Alright everyone, alright. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting, please, continue.” Grantaire says, hands spread wide.

“To hell with the meeting!” Courfeyrac calls. “I want to celebrate our dear friend Grantaire, who is now a seasoned traveling man!” A cheer rises. Grantaire’s face grows hot.

“No, no, I insist. Please, continue what you were doing. I do miss it dearly,” Grantaire says, and that seems to win them over. Chairs get put back to where they belong, cups settle back on table tops, and the volume of the room gets back to a relatively normal level. Normal for their group, at least, which is a bit louder than average.

Now that the chaos is sorted, it’s much easier to spot Marius at the table just to the right of Enjolras’. Grantaire approaches, seeing the beautiful Cosette at Marius’s side. Cosette, while not the youngest of their group, certainly feels much more mature to Grantaire’s eyes, but no less charming and soft.

“Dearest friends,” Grantaire says, leaning down to press his hands to the tabletop, careful not to crush the flower. “I seem to have missed your wedding!” 

Marius flushes pink, like he always does, and Grantaire feels elated at seeing his timid smile.

“We wanted to invite you, we just didn’t know where to send the invitation. Jehan wouldn’t give us the address.” Cosette says. Any anger he might have had at missing the wedding instantly fades. He _ had _asked Jehan specifically not to share the address and he’s internally pleased that they listened, even under the pleading puppy eyes of Cosette.

“We wanted you there, Grantaire. It’s a shame that- that you couldn’t make it.” Marius says.

“Well, I hope it was a grand evening. Congratulations you two, may your marriage be blessed and full of wealth and happiness and maybe one day babies, if you want them.” Grantaire holds out his letter and flower. He had picked the flower earlier that morning, he had seen it and stopped at the side of the road to pick it. It was pure white and just about to bloom. He thought it was perfect. The letter was simply what he might have said, given the chance to give a speech at the wedding, and he thought it too important not to write down. The front of the letter says_The Fauchelevents. _Marius sputters when he sees it.

“Thank you, Grantaire.” Cosette says, face rosy with happiness.

Grantaire grins. “I love you both very much.” He says, bending over the table to gently kiss Cosette’s cheek and then Marius’s. “Congratulations again!”

When he sits back in his seat, at the table far in the back- although the room wasn’t that big in the first place, even at the back he wasn’t ever too far away- next to Joly, he felt simultaneously charged up and exhausted. Joly smiles kindly at him.

“We’ve missed you, dear friend.”

“I have missed you too.”

The rest of the night passes without a hitch. The meeting never really gets back to its professional order, not that they were very professional in the first place, but Grantaire’s arrival seemed to inject a certain amount of cheer directly into the heart of the group. The meeting unofficially ends as people chat cheerfully amongst themselves. It’s so soothing to hear Musichetta laughing at a joke Joly told. Bahorel’s voice, always a little bit louder than the others, carries across the room, tickling Grantaire’s senses. It’s good. After being alone for so long, it’s nearly overwhelming how good familiar company feels. Especially since Enjolras keeps glancing at him from the head table. He never used to do that before. Every time he does it, it’s like running his fingertips over the open flame of a candle- Grantaire feels like he’s tingling.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac calls as he approaches.

“Yes, my good friend?”

“Let me buy you a drink. And dinner.” Coufeyrac says, leaning on Grantaire’s table, palms flat against it. “Please, consider it a favor for being so kind and good!”

“Courfeyrac, you tease me.” Grantaire says. Joly covers his mouth against a laugh, and Courfeyrac looks at them both in disbelief.

“I would never!” Courfeyrac stands back, one hand dramatically over his heart. “Please, my friend, let me welcome you back properly.” Courfeyrac smiles warmly and Grantaire stares at him. Enjolras had spoken true about how handsome Courfeyrac looked with his new closely cut hairstyle. Grantaire thinks he is beautiful, in a boyish way, his charm and warmth radiating from his genuine smile.

Grantaire isn’t really one to resist the offer of free drinks, let alone in combination with Courfeyrac’s smile. “Alright.”  
  
“Yes!” Courfeyrac grabs Grantaire’s face and kisses his forehead, right between his eyebrows, and then bounds upstairs to the bar to buy a drink and some food. When he comes back, he sits next to Grantaire and catches him up on all the town gossip as Grantaire tucks into the bread and wine Courfeyrac brought him. Courfeyrac speaks very plainly about women, both beautiful and not, and speaks very upright of the things Grantaire missed while he was away. Grantaire learns of all the issues Enjolras had written of, their close call with another barricade incident, their issues with letter interference. Courfeyrac was good that way. He makes Grantare feel like he didn’t miss too much after all.

When Courfeyrac leaves Grantaire’s side, it’s in good humor. He leaves to go join Marius in conversation. Grantaire knows of his fondness for their young Marius, and doesn’t hold him back. Instead, Grantaire goes to join Jehan at their table.

“I think someone is waiting for you,” Jehan says immediately, looking pointedly over Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire turns to see Enjolras at the base of the stairs that lead out of the room, head bent down as he reads some papers. He has his coat folded over one arm. “Whatever you wrote in those letters you sent him, R, I must know. You seem to have really charmed him.”

Grantaire laughs, flustered. He squeezes Jehan’s hand gently. “I’ll tell you tomorrow over breakfast, alright? Send a pigeon if you must, but I will make it to breakfast. Invite Joly and his two lovers as well. It’s been so long without company, even though you visited me this winter. I miss you, my friend.”

“Of course. I’ll send the loudest alarm I know.” Jehan winks. “I’ll send Bahorel.” They laugh.

“I should go,” Grantaire says, standing, pulling Jehan’s hand up to press a kiss to their knuckles. “Good to see you again.”

Jehan waves, sending him on his way, and Grantaire tries to get his thumping heart under control as he leaves the loudest part of the room to the quiet corner where Enjolras is standing.

Bahorel could have been yelling right in his ear and Grantaire wouldn’t have heard it. He can only process how Enjolras looks up and smiles blindingly at him.

“Is it time for our walk around the town, R?” Enjolras asks.

“Certainly.”

Enjolras folds up his papers again and tucks them away. Grantaire wonders what could be so important that Enjolras carries it with him. They ascend the stairs, Enjolras sliding on his coat and buttoning up the front, and then they’re in the cold air once more.

It’s much colder outside now, but Grantaire can hardly feel it. His friends have warmed him up, thawed out the cold bits inside him, Grantaire could last the rest of the winter on the residual warmth left inside him.

“I think you should pick a spot for us to walk to. After all, it’s been so long since you’ve been here, hasn’t it?” The air fills with a line of fog from Enjolras’s mouth as he speaks.

Grantaire hums. “My usual haunts aren’t the prettiest places it town, Enjolras.”  
  
“I don’t care. I want you to see the city again, the way you know it. Show me, please.”

Grantaire smiles. “Alright. If you insist. This way, then.” Grantaire takes them behind the _ Musain _, and down the back streets. He’s got the perfect place in mind, a spot he’s missed dearly since he left for Italy. Contrary to what he said, it is quite beautiful, and he hopes Enjolras likes it.

As soon as the light from the _ Musain _fades behind them, Enjolras speaks. “So… do you think yourself enlightened?”

“Enlightened?” Grantaire says, surprised. “What would bring such a thing?”

“When you first wrote to me, you said you hoped to achieve some sort of enlightenment while you were away in Italy. I ask if you have done as such.”

“Perhaps,” Grantaire considers. “I do know more about art. My school was efficient if not strict. I think, more than anything, realized what good I have here in Paris. Learning the fundamentals of art in Italy was worth it, certainly, but I don’t know if I have what it takes to be a true artist.”

Enjolras frowns. “I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, really, Grantaire-” Enjolras stops at the next street lamp, unbuttoning his coat to reach for his waistcoat pocket. “There was a drawing on the back of one of your letters. If- If that is not art, truly good art, I don’t know what is.”

Grantaire sputters. “_What_?”

Enjolras pulls out a handful of letters, which Grantaire now recognizes as the papers Enjolras had been studying earlier. Something squeezes in his chest at the realization. Enjolras shuffles through them before he finds the one, and he unfolds it to show Grantaire. “There. See? I could have mistaken this for a master’s work, and if it weren’t for your signature at the bottom, I might have.” On the back of the letter, in the dim light, Grantaire can see a sketch he had done of one of the Italian monuments, from the great Roman era. Because it was done in graphite, it is a bit smudged, but the values still remained strong and the details were understandable.

“How did you get that?”

“You sent it to me. I think it was, perhaps, a mistake, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“When could I have written on a drawing?” Grantaire wonders aloud.

“The impression I got was that you were very, very drunk.” Enjolras responds. 

“What do you mean?”

“The letter explained enough.” Enjolras flips the letter over to reveal sloppy writing. “_It is late at night and perhaps I am a little deep in my cups,_” he reads out loud.

“Oh.” Grantaire remembers and feels much like he’s been splashed with cold water. “You never responded to that letter.”

“What was I to say? Certainly nothing I wanted immortalized on paper.” Enjolras huffs, frowning, folding the letter back up and putting it away. “I wanted to tell the truth then, but I couldn’t.”

“It’s alright. I won’t pry answers from you.”

“But I want you to know! Who else could I trust with such a thing? You asked and I wanted to tell you. Grantaire, I… I have taken a man to bed as you described, but it was only once.”

Grantaire drops his voice low, to match Enjolras’s sudden whisper. Such a topic deserves respect and privacy. “Did you find it enjoyable?”

Enjolras laughs. “Certainly more enjoyable than laying with a woman.” Enjolras admits quietly. “There’s a sense of shame that follows, but I think that’s due to social expectations, the pressure to follow these unspoken guidelines to the exact word. Surely you understand. I’ve never cared for stifling norms anyway, so I don’t feel shame for my actions so much as regret that I even felt shameful in the first place.”

“Not a fan of marriage, sir?”

“Not in the traditional sense, no. Grantaire, there’s-” Enjorlas takes a deep breath. “There’s so much I want to change. There’s so much that _ must _ change, for without that change, how can someone with more sensitivity to society's rules live their true life? I am hardened against people’s thoughts of me, through years of dismissal and intentional ignorance. But I am not like others. How can others live easily?”

“Very quietly, I imagine.”  
  
“That’s wrong! I want to make it a world where a man can turn to the one he loves, whether it be man, woman, or other, and be true in his words and actions. I want to be able to say _ I love you _ to the one who deserves it most. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Love is what drives us all, is it not?

“It is!” Enjolras looks endlessly pleased. “I may be talking in circles, but I’m glad you understand what I’m trying to say. It’s so hard to articulate.”

“I understand,” Grantaire says earnestly. “Believe me, the only love I feel, the all consuming kind, is for people, that in society's eyes, don’t deserve it. Where would I be without Courfeyrac’s love? Or Jehan’s? Or even, yours, if I’m allowed to say. It’s love that drives me.” Grantaire rubs his finger under his nose, suddenly shy. He’s not the one who is prone to passionate outbursts. He’s more the rambling kind, letting his words fall out of his mouth and aimlessly chase each other, until they reach some semblance of a point.

“Have you had any contact with the woman you wrote me about?” Enjolras asks suddenly.

“Adeline?”

“Yes, that’s the one. How is she?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire says. The thought that he may never see her again saddens Grantaire immensely. “She was quite kind to me before I left. She had embroidered a handkerchief with my initial on it, as a going away gift. If I am to be honest, I nearly cried, but I wanted to remain collected in her presence. I bought her a small bag of sweets before I went on my way.”

“That’s very sweet of her.”

“She is a sweet as sugar. It’s horrible she’s all alone now. I did… I did tell her of the ABC, so that if she ever finds herself in Paris, she can seek refuge with us.”

“That’s very unusual of you. Recommending us to someone, I mean.”

Grantaire ducks his head. “I want the best for her. Where else to seek safety than with us? I know you’d protect her, I know you would.”

“Of course. I hope maybe one day she finds us. Did you ever meet the man who’s supposed to be her husband?”

“No. I did not want to, because I was afraid I would not be able to stop myself in affronting him in her defense. I didn’t want to cause trouble for her.”

Just as Enjolras opens his mouth to reply, a pair of footsteps run past them, quick as a bullet and nearly invisible in the night. The shadowed figure stops, clearly a child, and then runs back up to them.

“Grantaire, is ‘at you?” Little Gavroche steps out from the shadows and into the light, peering at the pair of them with excited eyes. When he sees Grantaire standing there, he runs forwards and slams Grantaire into a hug.

“Why, Gavroche. Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now?” Grantaire teases, taking off Gavroche’s cap to ruffle his hair. He kneels down on the cold pavement, holding Gavroche by the shoulders. “Hey, if you come to my flat tomorrow afternoon, we’ll share bread, like gentlemen.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course. I missed you, little one.”

“Hey! I’m not so little anymore!” 

Grantaire stands, hands on his hips. He’s certainly taller than the young Gavroche but he never flaunts his height over him. “You’re right! You must be what, 13 years now? You’re nearly to my chest.”

Gavroche snatches his hat back and straightens it over his unruly hair. “That’s right!” Gavroche puffs out his chest proudly.

“Proud of you, kid. Hope you’ve been staying out of trouble while I was away.”

“Of course!” Gavroche salutes. “I’ve gotta be off. Things to do. Au revoir, monsieurs!” Gavroche runs back into the night just as quick as he had approached. Grantaire laughs to himself.

“I didn’t know you were so familiar with Gavroche.” Enjolras says.

“He’s like a brother to me. He thinks he’s so tough, and it’s undeniable that he is, but he’s still a child. Someone has to look after him.” Grantaire rubs the back of his neck. Enjolras smiles like he’s proud and Grantaire’s heart leaps into his throat. “Well. We’re almost to where I wanted to take you.”

“And where’s that?”

“You’ll see. It’s beautiful.”  
  
“I trust you.” Enjolras, the always sincere Enjolras, makes Grantaire’s chest feel warm, like he’s lit a fire there to light Grantaire up from the inside out.

The night is cool, the moon a pale half crescent hanging high in the sky and lighting their way. It’s late enough that they have the streets to themselves. Each lamp has a flickering candle in it.

The two of them walk close together, letting their knuckles bump against each other as they walk. Enjolras is ethereal like this, happy, content, not wound up by the enthusiasm of their friends. Grantaire feels helpless against him.

“Here we are,” Grantaire says, walking ahead to turn and look at Enjolras as they walk onto an arched bridge. “My favorite spot. It’s the only spot in the whole city where the sky stretches on into forever.” He holds out his arms, looking up at the cloudless sky where the stars twinkle above them. Enjolras walks up to Grantaire, standing close, impossibly close, closer than he was before, and Grantaire’s senses zero in on Enjolras. Enjolras’s eyes shine with mirth.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says. He isn’t looking at the sky, but he smiles like he’s seeing the great infinite cosmos. Grantaire understands.

“I missed you.” Grantaire murmurs.

“And I you,” Enjolras says.

All the words in the world and Enjolras fits none. He’s hard to pin down but easy to understand when you see him before you.

“Do you want to see the water?” Grantaire reaches out, hands intentionally gentle as he holds Enjolras by the wrist. They walk to the edge where the tall railing stops them, the sounds of the water washing over them and holding them in a cocoon of pleasant noise. Enjolras leans against the chest high railing, studying the water below. His hair, longer than it was before, slides off his shoulder. He looks like the statues in Italy, carved fine and fair, down to every last delicate detail. He’s gorgeous.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says on an exhale. He can’t keep this inside. “I never said. I wanted to- I wanted to thank you for writing to me. It really made my time there more bearable. It felt like you were there, if just for a moment, and I didn’t feel so lonely.”

“I could say the same to you,” Enjolras says, smiling. “Things got pretty difficult, but I always looked forward to your next letter. I kept my favorites with me.” Enjolras pats his side, surely where the pocket in his waist coat is. Grantaire feels warm all over. He had kept Enjolras’s letters safe in a small wooden box, dedicated only to the notes Enjolras would send. When he was feeling down, he would open the box, and read a few of Enjolras' sentences, and feel better for it, because Enjolras had such spirit and light that it was hard to be dark and dim at the thought of it.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he needs to, he trusts that Enjolras understands.

Grantaire clears his throat. “When too many days passed without a letter from you I grew weary and concerned. I feared the worst- that perhaps you had died for your cause and I wasn’t there to help you.”

Enjolras smiles. “Do not worry, I am safe, I am here in flesh and blood, standing before you. I am no ghost.” He gestures to himself, as if looking at him made him any more solid than he already was. Grantaire feels something at the very tip of his tongue, something pressing at the back of his teeth and feeling so desperate to be said.

“If you are not a spirit, why am I so possessed by you? If not a phantom, why do you haunt my thoughts? I am torn in half with grief at the thought you might ever be harmed. It’s all consuming, the thought of you, and here I stand before you and I find myself overwhelmed.” Enjolras blinks, a flush rising on his cheeks. Grantaire ducks his head. “I don’t intend to be too bold or to shock you. I… I think you surely know.”

“I do know,” Enjolras smiles softly at Grantaire. “You’ve put words to my own feelings. You’ve always been better at that than me. I- may I-” A thousand impliactions run through Grantaire’s head like a dog running a lap around a house. He feels scandalized, embarrassed, and incredibly eager all at the same time; until he realizes Enjolras has reached out for his hand.

It’s exactly what he wants. It’s perfect for them. “Of course, my good sir.” Grantaire laces his fingers through Enjolras’s and holds tight. Enjolras, the ever unwavering, smiles steadily at Grantaire.

They don’t let go of each other’s hands the rest of the night. They walk the streets of paris, connected, intertwined, enjoying each others company as they talk about everything and nothing at all. When it’s time to go home, Grantaire doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll see you soon,” Enjolras says.

“I’ll miss you.” Grantaire repeats. He’s said it a hundred times and he’ll say it a hundred more.

Enjolras laughs. “Don’t be silly. I’ll see you before you know it.” Enjolras can’t seem to stop smiling. He sobers though, hand squeezing Grantaire’s palm. “I should say goodnight before it becomes morning.”

Grantaire wants to invite him inside. He wants to hold him through the night. “You should.”

“You should make me.”

Grantaire laughs. “Say goodnight, Enjolras.”

Enjolras dips his head to rest it on Grantaire’s shoulder, leaning into him. The sudden closeness of him makes Grantire’s heart rate start stammering a quicker beat. Enjolras stays there. He breathes deeply. “Goodnight, Grantaire.”

Grantaire pets Enjolras' hair, lightly, holding Enjolras the same way Enjolras is holding him. “Goodnight Enjolras.” Enjolras tips his head closer to Grantaire, leaning his face towards him, and for a moment Grantaire thinks Enjolras might kiss him.

He doesn’t. Grantaire isn’t disappointed. He knows it’s right. Enjolras stands tall, and withdraws his hand, smiling, and he heads off into the street without another word.

Grantaire may not be the smartest, or the prettiest, or the wittiest. But he certainly feels like the luckiest man in all of Paris. The weather is cold enough he can see his breath, but he only feels the lingering impression of Enjolras’s body heat. Tomorrow, he will rise early for breakfast, and a new chapter of his life will begin, this time with Enjolras at his side, closer than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to do math to write this. In case you were curious, it takes roughly 4 days for a letter to travel by train from Paris to Florence in 1832.


End file.
